


the sky was made for us tonight

by papered



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24776338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papered/pseuds/papered
Summary: In which Draco moves into his own place, but his neighbour - and the people he meets - are not quite what he expects. Written for hd_hols2012 (December, 2012)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	the sky was made for us tonight

“You have got to be kidding me,” said Draco Malfoy in horror.

From a few feet beside him, Potter continued to sputter, sounding somewhat like a drowning rat.

Draco was too shocked to make a disparaging comment about it. “Potter?” he asked instead. “What are you doing here?”

It had been a good three years since he’d been anywhere near Potter. Oh, he was aware, as was most of the wizarding world, that Potter had disappeared for a year after the defeat of Voldemort, only to reappear and go straight into the Auror training program, but compared to his Hogwarts days, he’d gotten uncannily good at staying out of view of the paparazzi. No one knew where he lived, what he did in his free time, or if he was seeing anyone. Of course, the Daily Prophet released articles at least twice a month about how Potter had been sighted at this new coffee house and that fancy Italian restaurant with so-and-so, complete with dark and blurry photos, but no one could really be sure if it was him.

It took another minute before Potter was recovered enough to speak. “What do you mean, what am I doing here? I live here!” he said finally, sounding unreasonably indignant. “What are you doing here?”

“You live here?” Draco repeated with mounting horror.

Setting foot again in London after being gone for a few years, it had taken Draco nearly half a year to find a decent place to live. It wasn’t that there was a lack of vacancies or anything, but growing up in Malfoy Manor unfortunately meant that one ended up being very particular about the sort of place one deemed “liveable”. Personally, Draco didn’t think he was being all that unreasonable. He was well aware that Malfoy Manor, built nearly two centuries ago under the instructions of Abraxas Cygnus Malfoy, was an architectural masterpiece, with every spiral staircase and marble arch built to perfection. He certainly didn’t expect any house to rival the grandness of his childhood home.

But Draco wanted something elegant. He wanted something with a wide balcony from which he could see the city, and he wanted the living room to be positioned so that the sun would stream through the windows and light up the rooms in the mornings. French windows were a plus.

After six months, five disgruntled realtors (four of them fired), and two shouting matches, Draco had finally become the proud owner of No. 5 Atolis Way.

But then Potter had to show up, and he didn’t look like he planned to go anywhere anytime soon.

“How can you live here?” he asked, because this situation was plainly ridiculous. Potter had a perfectly good Manor house sitting around waiting for him – what was he doing here, interrupting Draco’s life? “Why aren’t you at Grimmauld Place?”

Potter frowned at him. “Grimmauld Place? I haven’t lived there in years. It’s not even practical.” He shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. “And the reporters leave me alone here because they don’t know where I am.”

“Yes, but why did you have to move here?”

“I liked the French windows.”

“Merlin, this cannot be happening.”

Potter had the nerves to roll his eyes. “Christ, Malfoy, don’t be such a drama queen. It’s hardly the end of the world.”

No, it wasn’t the end of the world, but it had taken Draco months to find the perfect place, only for Potter to waltz in and ruin his life.

“Why are you even living here, Malfoy? This is practically Muggle London.”

“No it’s not,” Draco said crossly, just to be disagreeable, but Potter was right. The houses on this street had been built so that the front doors faced wizarding London, but the back overlooked Muggle London. He’d chosen the location on purpose – it was mostly a residential area, and had seemed like it would be quiet and private. Few wizards would ever come to this area unless they lived here themselves, and any Muggles who strayed too close would suddenly recall an urgent matter they had to take care of.

Potter frowned. “You better not tell anyone that I live here!”

“As if,” Draco scoffed. “If anything, you’re going to be the one to do something stupid and attract the Daily Prophet’s attention again, and I’m going to get dragged into it.” And then, just to be annoying, he sneered and added, “Maybe I should call up Rita Skeeter and make her a deal. Information on the whereabouts of Harry Potter, as long as she leaves me alone.”

Potter momentarily turned an amusing shade of red, but then, to Draco’s disappointment, he suddenly laughed. “You are still such a twat, Malfoy. You know you wouldn’t do that – you’re my neighbour now. Drawing attention to me would only bring the paparazzi down on you too.”

Draco scowled, because unfortunately, the other man was right. “You better not disturb my privacy, Potter,” he said instead.

He was not going to let Potter bother him. All he had to do, he decided, was ignore Potter’s existence. He’d been doing it for the last few years, after all – it couldn’t be too difficult to continue.

~

Draco spent his weekends getting to know his new neighbourhood. Starting in at his new position at St. Mungo’s meant that he didn’t have a lot of free time, but he’d discovered a gym, some excellent restaurants, and a tailor all within a twenty-minute walk away – the hole-in-the-wall Italian place a few blocks away had been a particularly good find. He still had to find a grocery store though. For now, he’d been stopping at one on the way home from work.

He ignored the logical little voice in the back of his head telling him that he could always do the reasonable thing and ask Potter.

His greatest discovery was, probably, the tea shop just a few blocks away. From the outside, it looked rather abandoned – the windows were rather grimy, and the sign on the door proclaiming Madam Paccat’s Tea Shop was tilted and worn down. Draco would have walked right by without a second glance if not for the fact that he saw two very well-dressed witches enter the establishment just as he was passing by.

Curiosity getting the best of him, Draco walked up and cautiously pushed open the door.

The inside of the shop was nothing like the outside. The place was much larger than the storefront would have suggested, and not only was it clean, it was also bright and cheerful. Eccentric, mismatching tables were scattered around the store, and Draco was surprised to see that almost every single one was occupied. There was even a cozy-looking loveseat by the window, which seemed to be overlooking a view of snowfall despite the fact that it was rather foggy outside. Celestina Warbeck’s voice wailed happily over the wizarding wireless network.

“Can I take your order?” came a voice from the counter at the back, and Draco looked up to find a plump, middle-aged witch looking expectantly at him. Her apron was bright orange and clashed horribly with her red hair.

“A cup of Earl Grey please,” Draco said, walking up.

“Anything to eat with that, my dear?” She motioned towards the giant printout stuck on the wall to her left, proclaiming Winter Specials!.

Draco ordered a slice of pumpkin pie as well, then paid the woman – Madam Paccat, he assumed. It wasn’t until he was waiting to the side for his order that he realized there was an unusual number of eyes on him.

The couple sitting at the table closest to him were looking at him curiously, while a group of younger witches in the corner were whispering and giggling while peering at him from behind their hands. Draco looked away stiffly, but then one of them got up and approached him.

“Excuse me, sir, I couldn’t help but notice – but are you really Draco Malfoy?”

Even if he wasn’t Harry Potter, the wizarding world was still interested in what had become of the son of Lucius Malfoy. Being out of the country for a while had diverted people’s attention, but Draco wasn’t exactly someone hard to recognize.

“I’m sorry, Miss, you have the wrong person,” he said, keeping his voice civil but insistent. He turned and faced the counter so that his back was to the rest of the shop until his order was ready, at which point he levitated his food with a flick of his wand and turned to look for a seat. There were two empty tables, but both were made to seat two or three and Draco had a suspicion that a nosy witch or wizard might try to join him if he were to sit there.

Instead, he looked over at the one table whose occupant was not peering curiously at Draco. The table itself was unusual – made out of wood but carved into the shape of a squirrel – and the man sitting at it looked to be about Draco’s age. He barely glanced at Draco, and was reading what looked like a Muggle newspaper.

Making a decision, Draco walked over to him. “Would you mind if I shared your table?” he asked. The man lowered the paper, his eyes widening as he looked at Draco. For a moment, Draco wondered if he would say something about who Draco was, but then he merely nodded and shifted his belongings over.

Draco sat. Settling himself down, he took a small sip of his tea and sighed involuntarily.

“This is perfect,” he said out loud, and the man next to him laughed.

“Good, isn’t it? This is my favourite tea shop in the neighbourhood,” he said, finally speaking up. There was something vaguely familiar about his voice, but Draco was too busy taking his second sip to really think about it.

“Do you come here a lot?” he asked finally, putting down his cup to take a bite of his pie. It was equally good.

“Um, yeah, practically everyday. I’m addicted,” the man said ruefully. “Is this your first time here? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

Draco hummed happily. “I recently moved into the area,” he explained. And then, on impulse, he stuck out his hand. “I’m Draco Malfoy.”

The man seemed to hesitate for a second, but then he shook Draco’s hand and smiled. His grip was firm. “Har – I’m Harvey. Harvey Smith.”

Harvey had medium-brown hair and a fairly generic sort of face, but up-close, his eyes were unusually green. Most people Draco knew with green eyes had flecks of blue or grey or hazel mixed in, but Harvey’s were just a true green. It made the colour jump off his face a little, in a way that drew attention and became the first thing someone would notice.

He wasn’t bad-looking, Draco decided. Eyes aside, his features might be a bit plain, but he had the sort of face that came to life when he smiled.

Harvey coughed.

Realizing that he was staring, Draco quickly cleared his throat. “So, what are you drinking?” he asked, peering into the other man’s cup.

“It’s a tea blend with bergamot, cinnamon, and herbs,” Harvey said, taking a sip with flourish. He laughed at the expression on Draco’s face. “What? Don’t like bergamot?”

“I’m fine with bergamot. And cinnamon, for that matter. But herbal blends?” Draco wrinkled his nose. “That’s not even proper tea.”

“You make it like tea, you drink it like tea, and it’s good for you. Why wouldn’t I consider it a tea? Besides, it’s good.” Harvey took another long, exaggerated sip. “Have you even tried any?”

“Of course I have,” Draco said, which was actually a big fat lie, but he wasn’t about to admit it now. “And it was awful.”

“Mine’s not awful,” Harvey insisted, and then, looking determined, pushed his cup towards Draco. “Here, try some.”

Draco stared blankly at the practical stranger who was trying to make him drink undoubtedly disgusting concoctions and then his lips were curving without his permission at the utter ridiculousness of the situation. “Are you crazy? No, I don’t want any.” He pushed the cup back. “And the whole point of tea is that it’s made from the tea plant. Herbs are not tea.”

“We’ll just have to agree to disagree then.” Harvey said, grinning.

Draco smiled back involuntarily. “So, Harvey,” he said, sitting back in his seat. “Aside from frequenting tea shops, what do you do with your life?”

They talk for longer than Draco had intended. He learned that Harvey worked as an Auror, had graduated from a school in the United States (but had lived in London as a kid, which was why his accent was British), and spent his free time drinking too much tea.

Draco, in return, found himself talking about his own life – how he’d decided to leave England after the war and study in France instead for his medical training, and how he’d recently come back to London to work. “I’m working mostly at St. Mungo’s now, but I’ll be the on-call mediwizard for the Hollyhead Harpies during Quidditch season,” he explained.

By the time Draco finished his (third) refill of tea, he realized that it had been over an hour since he’d first walked in.

“I should probably get going,” Harvey said, looking at the clock in surprise. “I didn’t realize what time it was.”

“Me too.” Draco stood up, leaving a generous tip in the box at the corner of the table as he pulled on his cloak. “It was nice to meet you, Harvey Smith.”

Harvey smiled. “You too.”

Draco discovered, quite abruptly, that while he would undoubtedly run into Harvey again at some point, he didn’t want to leave their next meeting up to chance. On impulse, he added, “Since I’m new here, maybe you can show me around the neighbourhood some time.”

“Oh,” Harvey said. “Um, sure. Okay. Why not.” He looked a little uncertain, but Draco, taking his tentative agreement as encouragement, pressed on.

“How about dinner some time? You can show me your favourite places to eat.”

“Oh, well, there’s a brunch place nearby that I go to a lot on weekends, but I guess we can go for dinner? I mean, I’m not sure what time it’s open until, but it’s probably fine – I mean, I don’t think they would close early or anything –”

“Sounds great,” Draco said, and found himself trying to hide a smile at Harvey’s babbling. He hadn’t seemed flustered at all past the initial small talk earlier, and his apparent nervousness now was funny, somehow. “Weekend, you said? I still need to do the last of my furniture-shopping this week, but I’m free next weekend. How about Saturday night, six o’clock?”

“Er, yeah, okay. The restaurant isn’t that far from here, but I don’t know if you’ll be able to find it?”

“Let’s just meet outside here, and we can walk over together.” Draco looped his scarf around his neck and tied the front. “See you then.”

“Bye, Draco.”

The warm feeling in his stomach – just the tea, surely – accompanied Draco all the way home.

~

Draco ran into Harvey a handful more times before they were scheduled to meet for dinner. He supposed it wasn’t unusual, with both of them going to the same tea shop now, but he still found the frequency they ran into each other a little surprising. Sometimes, they would sit down and talk, while other times, they would only have time for a hello before one of them had to run.

The second time, Harvey made him drink some of his herbal brew. Draco gagged and complained the entire way through, but secretly, he didn’t think it was too bad.

The fourth time, Harvey wasn’t alone.

That in itself wasn’t the surprise. The surprising part was the fact that Draco actually knew his companion.

“Draco!” Hermione Granger said, sounding shocked. She also seemed strangely panicked, but Draco just chalked that up to her being odd.

“Granger,” he said, giving her a small nod. Granger, who’d gone on to work in the social justice department at the Ministry, had played a big role in getting his mother declared innocent of the crimes certain people had only been too eager to slap on her. They’d had their share of friction at first, with Draco unwilling to believe that she would ever actually try to help anyone with the last name Malfoy, and her, frustrated by his attitude, but eventually they’d gotten past most of their childhood grievances and had settled into a courteous if stilted relationship.

“Oh! Do you live around here too?” She asked. “This is my friend, he’s new to the area, so I thought I’d show him the –”

Harvey cleared his throat loudly, cutting her off. “It’s alright, Hermione. I, um. I actually know Draco already.”

“What?” Granger looked between Draco and Harvey with wide eyes.

“Yes, we’ve met,” Draco said. He looked at Harvey. “I thought you’d been living here for a while already?”

“Er, yeah, that’s right. Of course.” Harvey nodded vigorously. “I moved here in the fall, just a few months ago, but Hermione meant, relatively, of course, that I’m fairly new compared to a lot of people here.” He seemed to be turning an odd shade of pink, although Draco couldn’t determine why. “Not as new as you, of course.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I meant,” Granger said quickly.

There was definitely something odd going on here, but not sure how to question it without directly asking, Draco let it go.

The moment Granger excused herself to look for the washroom, however, he leaned forward. “So, how do you know Granger?” he asked Harvey, who seemed to be examining the table with great fascination.

“Um, you know. Just. Mutual friends and things.”

“What?” Draco narrowed his eyes. “Wait, does that mean you know Potter too?”

“Who?” Harvey asked, a touch too loudly. The couple sitting next to them turned to look at them, and Harvey flushed, sinking into his seat.

Draco, however, was still staring at him. “What do you mean, who? Are you saying you don’t know who Harry Potter is?”

“No no, of course not. Famous bloke, how could I not know him,” Harvey babbled. “What I meant was, I don’t know him. Of course. I know Hermione from, ah, work. Yeah, I know some of her coworkers.”

“Oh,” Draco said, frowning. There was still something suspicious going on that he couldn’t put his finger on, but before he could figure out how to question Harvey further, Granger reappeared.

“Well, it was nice running into you again, Draco. Harvey and I actually have lunch plans with some friends – we have some catching up to do, don’t we, Harvey?” She gave Harvey a pointed glance before continuing. “Anyway, we’ll see you around?”

“Of course,” Draco said smoothly. “Harvey – are we still on for dinner this weekend?”

Granger’s eyes widened as she glanced back and forth between Draco and Harvey.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Harvey said, gathering his jacket and sounding a little choked. He coughed loudly. “Sorry, just… coming down with a cold.”

Draco watched them go until they disappeared from sight, then sipped at his tea. He wondered what all the blushing and stuttering had been about.

~

Harvey wasn’t the only one acting odd. Potter, Draco noticed, was also acting excessively weird.

Not that Draco really interacted with Potter – in fact, he’d made an effort to pretend he didn’t see Potter even when he caught sight of him – but lately, Potter was actually greeting him when they saw each other on their way to work in the mornings. And when Draco just raised an eyebrow at him instead of replying, he seemed flustered, for some reason. One day, he’d even dropped his keys.

It all came to a head one evening when, having just gotten home from a long shift, the doorbell rang just as Draco was settling into his couch with a cup of tea and considering how much he didn’t feel like making food.

Wondering who could be showing up at this hour, he tightened his grip on his wand – it was doubtful that anyone with ill intentions would ring the doorbell, but it didn’t hurt to be safe – and peered through the peephole.

Then, flinging open his front door, he glared at Harry Potter. Who was standing on his porch.

“Potter,” Draco ground out. “What are you doing here.”

“Hi Malfoy!” Potter chirped, sounding cheerful and entirely out of character. “I was baking pie earlier for dessert, and ended up making more than I should have.” He whipped his hands out from behind him, revealing a large plate. “I thought I’d bring some over to share. It’s pumpkin.”

Draco stared at him and wondered if Potter had actually gone insane. “Why?”

“Well, I had extra. And I just thought it would be nice. As a… a welcome-to-the-neighbourhood thing!”

“Are you trying to poison me?”

“What? No, of course not. Here, look,” he said, breaking off a piece of the pie and putting it in his own mouth. “See? No poison.”

“What is wrong with you?” Did Potter even realize how weird this was? Sure, they weren’t mortal enemies any longer, but Draco barely tolerated Potter’s presence – surely he’d made that clear from the moment he’d moved in. They certainly didn’t have the type of relationship where Potter brought over baked goods. “Just get off my lawn before someone sees you.”

“Not until you accept these,” Potter insisted, and Draco, realizing the futility of arguing with Potter over something this pointless, sighed internally.

“Fine,” he said, taking the plate. “Goodbye, Potter.”

And then he shut the door in Potter’s face.

He spent an hour casting every spell he could think of on the pie just to see if there was anything wrong with it before he cut up a slice. Transferring it to a plate, he cautiously took a bite.

His eyes widened as he chewed. It was good – surprisingly good. He’d had no idea Potter could even bake, never mind bake well. Making himself a cup of tea to go with it, he settled himself down on his couch again, sighing as he dug in.

Draco would never admit it to anyone, but it was so good that he finished the entire pie in about half an hour.

~

When the weekend of the dinner finally arrived, Draco was surprised to find how much he was looking forward to it. It had been a long week at work, with medical emergencies cropping up more than usual, and Draco had found himself staying overtime more days than not. It wasn’t like he had a lot of friends to spend free time with either – he’d lost contact with the few people he’d still talked to when he’d left England without telling anyone. Last he heard, Pansy was married to some Romanian aristocrat now, and Goyle had moved out of the country.

And so it was with a certain amount of anticipation that he arrived outside Madam Paccat’s ten minutes before schedule. The sky was already dark, and with the end of October just around the corner, the weather was getting depressingly cold. Luckily, Draco’s cloak and boots had been made with self-heating charms woven into the material, and his scarf and gloves, which his mother had sent him last Christmas (both cashmere, of course) kept him nice and toasty.

It was clear, when Harvey arrived a few minutes later, that he was not nearly so prepared. Gloveless, scarfless, and bootless, he seemed to be trying to stuff his hands into the opposite sleeve of his giant puffy jacket as he walked. His face was pink from the cold.

“Draco!” he said, running over the rest of the way. “Sorry, did I make you wait long?”

“Where are your gloves?” Draco asked, ignoring his question entirely.

“What? Oh, um. My friend got me a pair a few months ago, but I lost one, and then the other one shrank in the washing machine.” Harvey looked sheepish. “I guess I keep forgetting to get a new pair.”

“Washing machine?” Draco repeated blankly.

“Oh! It’s a Muggle thing, for doing your laundry. But sometimes, they shrink things, or change the colour of your clothing if you don’t wash it right.”

“Why would you do that? Why don’t you just use a spell, like normal wizards do?” Draco asked, exasperated. “You know what? Never mind. Here.” Pulling off his gloves, he stuffed them in Harvey’s general direction. “Put these on before you get pneumonia.”

“What? No, I couldn’t,” Harvey protested. “What about you?”

“I’m not the one without scarves or boots. Honestly, how have you survived all these years?” Seeing that Harvey was opening his mouth again, Draco shook his head. “Just put them on. I insist. And the faster we get to the restaurant, the faster both of us can get out of the cold.”

For a moment, he thought Harvey was going to object again, but then he ducked his head. “Thanks,” he said quietly as he pulled them on. “The restaurant’s just over that way.”

The restaurant turned out to be more like a diner – and what Harvey had failed to mention beforehand was that it was located in the Muggle half of the neighbourhood.

“Are you sure the food here is edible?” Draco asked, wrinkling his nose down at the menu.

Harvey laughed. “Don’t be such a snob, Malfoy. The store might not look like much, but I promise, the food is good. Try the burgers – they’re the best.”

Draco had serious doubts about anything here being the “best”, but he dubiously ordered the four cheese burger, which came with curly chips. Harvey got something called an American burger and a large chocolate mint milkshake.

“Here, try it,” he said, pushing the milkshake in Draco’s direction.

“I don’t think so, Smith.” Draco pushed it back.

“You should always try everything once,” Harvey insisted, bringing the cup close to Draco’s face. “Come on, just a sip. Trust me, you’ll like it.”

“You should try everything once? What kind of bad advice is that?” Draco grumbled, but sighed, bracing himself before taking a sip.

He blinked. And took another sip.

“See?” Harvey crowed. “You like it. I knew you would.”

“No, I don’t. Just because it’s not terrible doesn’t mean I like it,” Draco said, which was a lie, because it was, in fact, delicious. He stared at it for a moment, wondering if he could get away with taking another sip.

“Right, of course,” Harvey laughed, and grabbed an empty cup from the side of the table. “Here, I’ll split it with you.”

“I’m only drinking this because there’s way too much sugar in this for you to drink by yourself,” Draco said, sighing happily into his cup.

He couldn’t decide at first if he was happy or annoyed when his burger too, ended up delicious, but then he was too busy eating to be irritated. Harvey kept stealing curly chips off his plate, which was ridiculous because his own burger also came with chips.

“Oi, eat your own chips!” he said, slapping at Harvey’s fingers with his free hand. Harvey just laughed and stole another one.

“Yours are crispier,” he insisted, licking at his fingers.

“You have terrible manners,” Draco informed him, and proceeded to steal one of Harvey’s chips in return.

Harvey looked at him for a moment, his face the picture of surprise, before he burst into laughter.

They ate quickly but ended up staying longer to talk. When the waitress started giving them pointed looks and brought over the bill without their asking for it, Harvey grinned. “Maybe we should go soon.”

Draco nodded, reaching into his pocket. He realized the problem a second later.

“What wrong?”

“I don’t have Muggle money,” he confessed, feeling a little embarrassed. “I didn’t think we were coming to Muggle London –”

“Hey, don’t worry, it’s on me,” Harvey said easily, leaving some bills on the table. “You can get it next time.”

Next time, Draco thought, and didn’t mind the idea at all.

They walked back in the direction of Madam Paccat’s, chatting about inconsequential things on the way. It was pitch black out now, but there were streetlamps lighting their way every few feet. Draco couldn’t help but notice the way they made the shadows fall across Harvey’s face, contouring his cheekbones.

Dragging his eyes away, he realized that they were only a few blocks away from the tea shop now. “I’m just on Atolis Way,” Draco said. “Which direction are you going?”

“Oh, er. That way,” Harvey said, motioning vaguely in the opposite direction. “I should probably get going.”

Draco had been about to ask if Harvey wanted to come over for a cup of tea – he found himself oddly reluctant to let the evening end – but took the hint. “Thank you for showing me the diner, and for dinner – it was lovely.”

“I’m glad you liked the food. And oh!” Harvey pulled the gloves off his hands and tried to push them into Draco’s fingers. “I should probably give these back. Thanks for letting me borrow them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco said. “It’s even colder now. Wear them home.”

“But what about you?”

“I’ll be home in no time, and I have at last five other pairs in my house. Clearly you need them more than I do.”

“Okay then. If you’re sure.” Harvey hesitated for a second, but continued. “Good night, Draco.”

“Good night,” Draco echoed, and following another, strange impulse – he seemed to be having a lot of those lately, where Harvey was concerned – he leaned over and pressed his lips to Harvey’s cheek.

Or so he’d intended – except Harvey turned to smile at him at precisely that moment, and his kiss lands on chapped lips instead.

They both froze for a second, but neither pulled back. Draco had the fleeting, incomprehensible thought that this was like the plot in one of those terrible romance novels Pansy used to pretend she didn’t read – and then he was leaning in kiss Harvey properly with the sudden, certain knowledge that he wanted this, that he’d noticed Harvey’s eyes that first day in more than just an abstract, off-hand way.

Harvey kissed him back, hard, his tongue licking into Draco’s mouth, and Draco felt himself melting into it. Unconsciously, he reached up, arms looping around Harvey’s neck to brace himself, and then –

– abruptly, Harvey pulled back. “Oh god,” he said, looking frantic. “What am I doing.”

Okay, not the reaction Draco was expecting. That had definitely not been a one-sided kiss. “Hey, what’s wrong? It’s okay –”

“No, it’s really not. Merlin, this is a mess,” Harvey said, eyes wide. He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. “I can’t believe I did that.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “What, do you already have a boyfriend or something?”

“What? No, of course not, I would never do that,” Harvey said immediately, which reassured Draco greatly. It still didn’t explain what was going on though, but before Draco could ask, Harvey was stepping back.

“I’m so sorry, I have to go,” he said, looking like he wanted to flee.

“What? Harvey, stop,” Draco said, reaching out for him. “What are you talking about? I need you to explain yourself, because you’re not making any sense. Did I… do something wrong?”

“No no, it’s not you, I swear.” Harvey stopped, visibly taking a deep breath. “I’m really really sorry, but I can’t do this right now. I promise it’s not your fault, and I promise I’ll explain everything soon but… I just need some time right now, okay?”

“Okay,” Draco echoed blankly, even though he had no idea what was going on.

“I’m so sorry,” Harvey repeated. “I should really go now.”

He turned and practically ran, disappearing into the dark before Draco could think of anything else he could say. “What the hell?” Draco said out loud to the empty street. Everything had seemed to be going so well. It didn’t make any sense.

It was a long time before Draco started walking home.

~

A week passed.

Draco wasn’t sure what he was expecting. From their interactions, Harvey hadn’t seemed the type to run from confrontation, but enough time had passed that Draco was no longer sure if anything was going to come of the situation at all. He’d continued visiting Madam Paccat’s on a regular basis, reasoning to himself that there was no logical reason to avoid Harvey, but it was clear from the fact that he hadn’t seen Harvey once in the last seven days when they used to practically trip over each other at the tea shop that Harvey was avoiding him.

And so what Draco didn’t expect, is for his doorbell to ring a few minutes past midnight one night, just as he was getting ready to turn in. He didn’t expect the sight of Harvey standing on his front porch, looking like he hadn’t slept in two days.

“Harvey,” he said, keeping his tone even. The other man looked nervous, but for once, Draco didn’t feel like reassuring him. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry, I know it’s late,” Harvey said. “But… I have something I need to explain. Can I come in?”

Draco opened his door in invitation, and it didn’t occur to him until Harvey was seated in his living room that he’d never given the other man his exact address. “How do you know where I live?” he asked, one hand inching towards his wand just in case.

“I know it’s not going to make any sense, but that’s part of what I need to explain,” Harvey said, carefully not meeting Draco’s eyes. “I know I was terrible the other night, but. There’s something I have to tell you. Something I should have told you as soon as we met at the tea shop.”

“Yes?” Draco asked. Everyone had their secrets, but he couldn’t think of anything that would reasonably explain Harvey’s reaction the last time they’d seen each other.

Harvey visibly hesitated. The silence stretched.

Draco sighed. “Look. It’s nice that you’re here to try and explain things, but it’s really late. And I’m confused – I’ve been confused all week. I would’ve thought you didn’t feel the same way, but you kissed me back.” He paused, trying to voice his thoughts clearly. “The point is. If you’re here to tell me you weren’t interested after all, that’s fine, but in that case, you should just say so and leave. I have an early shift tomorrow.”

“No, Draco, that’s not it,” Harvey said, looking even more distressed. “That’s the problem. The problem is, I do like you – more than I should – but this isn’t right. I – I can’t ask you not to be angry with me, but I just want to say beforehand that – I was serious. Getting to know you properly, dinner, and the kiss, all of it – I meant it all. And I still mean it.”

Before Draco could ask him what on earth he was talking about, Harvey took a deep breath. Visibly steeling himself, he pointed his wand at his own face. “I’m so sorry. Homo Revelius!”

Draco watched, half in fascination and half in horror. It was like watching the top layer of a familiar painting being wiped off, only to reveal a completely different picture underneath. Harvey’s hair colour was the first to change, the brown slowly melting into a jet black, and then his face was growing narrower, his lips slightly wider. His brows darkened, and on his forehead, a familiar scar appeared.

The entire transformation took about a minute.

Draco found himself staring at Harry Potter with a sense of blank horror. It took him a second to regain his voice, and then the words were tripping their way out of his mouth. “What the hell is going on here, Potter? Why were you pretending to be Harvey? What have you done with him?”

“I – what? No, Draco, you don’t understand. I am Harvey.”

“No, you’re not. You can’t be,” Draco said, even as there was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Harvey’s initial reaction to him, his green eyes, the odd meeting with Granger – it was all starting to make a terrible amount of sense. Except – “You’re nothing like him.”

Potter flinched at that, but unlike at their last meeting, he stood firm. “Draco, I’m so sorry. But we’re the same person.” He paused, as if gauging Draco’s reaction, before continuing in a rush. “After having to move twice because the reporters found out where I lived and started waiting outside my door, I moved here and decided I was going to put on a glamour every time I left my house. And it worked – people left me alone because they didn’t know who I was, and it was fine because no one really tried to talk to me when I didn’t look like myself.”

“So, what? I moved here and you decided it would be a great big joke to play on Draco Malfoy?” Draco sneered. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t care. Just get out of my sight, Potter.”

“No, I swear, I never meant to deceive –” Potter started, sounding desperate, but Draco didn’t have any patience left. It had taken a moment for the disbelief to pass, but that was quickly fading into anger. And he wasn’t just angry – he was furious. For a single, blinding moment, Draco felt like he could pass out from the rage.

“Well, you did, so fuck you and your noble intentions,” he said, aware that he was dangerously close to shouting. “Now get out.”

He jabbed his wand in the other man’s face and watched with vicious delight as a gust of wind opened the front door, picked up Potter, and deposited him outside. The door slammed with a deafeningly loud bang after him, but it did nothing to make Draco feel better.

He stormed around his kitchen and living room, throwing his teacup against the opposite wall. It crashed to the tiles into a hundred pieces, but Draco ignored it, sweeping knickknacks off the table and onto the floor instead. His hands were shaking, and beneath the rage, he could feel the exhaustion settling in. It doesn’t matter, he told himself, bluntly vicious because it was the only thing he could believe right now. He was lying about everything all along, but it doesn’t matter, because I don’t care.

Draco collapsed on his couch, chest heaving, feeling like a puppet whose strings had been cut. His house suddenly felt impossibly cold, despite the wards maintaining the temperature, but he didn’t bother getting a blanket. Instead, he curled up onto the seat, staring at a spot on the opposite wall and determinedly not thinking about anything.

He didn’t fall asleep for a long time.

~

In the morning, he had to deal with the mess he’d made the night before. It wasn’t difficult to wave his wand and carry all the debris into the garbage can, but it was an unwelcome reminder of last night. Then, despite getting about two hours of sleep and feeling like he’d been run over by a truck, Draco dragged himself to work. He probably could have called in sick, but he didn’t particularly feel like sitting at home with his thoughts.

The next few days passed too slowly for Draco’s liking, one day stretching endlessly into the next. He stopped going to Madam Paccat’s – he had no wish to run into Potter again – and spent more time than he would admit moping around his house. When the weekend arrived again, he forced himself to get dressed and go out, determined to find a different tea shop to frequent.

By the time he finally found one a thirty-minute walk away, it was three hours later and Draco was cold and hungry. Stomping into the tiny store, he ordered an Earl Grey.

It tasted terrible. The witch at the counter had added sugar and milk without asking him, and Draco nearly choked on the sweetness of the first sip. Throwing the entire thing into the garbage can, he put on his cloak, grabbed his scarf, and trudged miserably home.

After that, he didn’t bother going out for tea anymore.

The worst part was, Draco knew why he was upset. If the entire thing had just been one big joke, Draco had no doubt he would have been angry, but then he would have thought of a way to get his revenge and gotten over it. The part that upset him the most was that he’d actually liked Harvey. Liked him enough to flirt with him, to ask to see him again - and then it had turned out that Harvey had been Potter all along.

Except Harvey had been nothing like the Potter he remembered. Sure, they hadn’t agreed on a lot of things, but it had been teasing, playful, nothing at all like the antagonism he’d come to associate with Potter over the years – and trying to think of Harvey and Potter in his head as the same person gave him a headache.

November came and went, and the first week of December brought with it the first snowfall of the year. It was just a quarter of an inch, if even that, and most of the snow melted before it actually hit the ground, but it brought with it the sense that winter was really here and that Christmas was right around the corner.

Work remained fairly busy, for which Draco was grateful – it kept him occupied. He left the house early most days – too early to ever run into Potter on his way to the Ministry – and by the time he got home, it was usually dark enough that he could pretend he didn’t see the other man even if Potter did happen to be coming in at the same time.

He settled into a routine, of sorts. For the first time in a while, he didn’t think about Potter or Harvey.

And so of course, Potter, who’d always had the worst timing, had to choose then to reappear in Draco’s life. He came to ring Draco’s doorbell, about a month after their last meeting, and this time, he was armed with chocolate chip cookies.

If Draco had checked the peephole properly and had known who it was, he probably wouldn’t have answered. As it was, it had been a long day, and he hadn’t really thought Potter would have the guts to show up at his door again anytime soon. In hindsight, considering what Potter was famous for, perhaps that had been a bit of a misguided assumption.

Potter, too, looked stunned. “Um, hi. I didn’t think you would open the door,” he confessed.

Draco briefly considered yelling at him and then slamming the door in his face, but the initial rage had passed, and now he was just tired. He sighed. “Do you really think that bringing me baked goods is going to make up for anything?”

“I know it won’t. But that doesn’t meant I shouldn’t try,” Potter said, expression determined. “Draco, please. I know that I should have left as soon as you showed up at the tea shop that day, but then you sat down next to me, and we started talking and you weren’t the Draco Malfoy I remembered. You were opinionated and stubborn, but you were also funny and charming and I actually liked you.” He paused, looking as if he was trying to find the right words. “I know I probably shouldn’t have kept in contact after that, but then I couldn’t help myself. I thought – I wanted to get to know you better.”

“That’s not an excuse, Potter.” Draco said.

“I know. I know it doesn’t. But I wanted you to know.” Potter swallowed audibly, then carefully met Draco’s gaze. “When you kissed me that day – I didn’t pull away because it was you. I pulled away because you didn’t know it was me. And I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me now, after everything that’s happened, but. I need to tell you – I didn’t mean to lie to you. And… I still feel the same way.” His eyes were ridiculously green. “Please. I’m just asking for a chance.”

The terrible thing was, Draco believed him. He believed that Potter was sincere, and that the other man meant what he was saying. Despite Draco’s original attempts to convince himself that Potter had merely been trying to play him the fool, he knew at the bottom of his heart what type of person Potter was. He was a Gryffindor through and through.

And it was terrible, because if he’d gone on thinking that Potter was a great big liar, he would’ve been able to cling onto his rage, but believing him meant that some small, unwilling part of Draco was starting to forgive him. Because when it came down to it, Draco had never had a lot of friends, and he’d genuinely liked Harvey. Who turned out to be Potter.

With a nearly inaudible sigh, Draco let the door swing open and turned around to get himself a drink. By the time he turned around, Potter was still gaping like a surprised goldfish outside his door.

“I… can come in?” he asked, voice unusually tentative.

“What are you waiting for, a written invitation?” Draco grumbled. “Shut the door behind you.”

“Oh. Okay,” Potter said, still looking unnaturally cautious as he did as Draco asked. He came to sit on the couch next to Draco, maintaining a few feet between them as if Draco was a tiger he didn’t want to spook.

Draco rolled his eyes, and took another sip of his drink. “You can get yourself something to drink in the kitchen.”

“Oh no, I’m fine!” Potter insisted vigorously, then proceeded to continue sitting while awkwardly alternating his gaze between Draco’s coffee table and the plate of cookies still clutched in his hand.

Draco let it continue for about ten minutes, just to watch Potter stew, before walking over to the kitchen himself. He came back with a filled mug, which he handed to Potter. The plate, he took and placed on the coffee table.

Potter took a sip, and his eyes widened. “Eggnog? Really?” He took another, longer sip. “I didn’t know this was something wizards drank too!”

“Don’t be stupid, Potter. It’s a Muggle drink.”

“Then how come you have it?” Potter frowned at him. “I thought you never went into Muggle London?”

“I don’t.” Draco stole one of the cookies. “I made it.”

“What?” Potter seemed to go temporarily mute with surprise, as if trying to process the idea of Draco Malfoy making eggnog. Finally, he took another sip from his mug. “It’s good,” he said. “Better than the store-bought kind I get.”

“Of course,” Draco said smugly. To his surprise, this conversation wasn’t going as badly as he’d thought it would. He took another cookie, then forcibly relaxed into his couch, letting his shoulders lose some of the tension he’d been carrying since Potter had walked in.

They ended up talking about inconsequential but safe topics like work and holiday traditions, and Draco was almost surprised to find that he didn’t develop any urges to murder Potter in his seat as they talked. Being told Harvey was Potter was one thing, but Draco was coming to discover that some part of him still expected Potter to be a completely different person. Realizing otherwise was going to take some time, but it was probably going to be less unpleasant than he’d imagined.

Potter, for his part, slowly lost the deer-in-the-headlights look, his expression gradually growing more relaxed as he sipped at his drink. He didn’t end up staying long, but by the time he left, there was a tentative something in the air that Draco wasn’t sure exactly how to describe.

All he knew was that while it wasn’t quite forgiveness, but it something close.

~

The week leading up to Christmas involved having Potter show up at his home at every other opportunity. Draco grumbled and complained and whined manfully about it at every chance, but it would be a lie to say he wasn’t enjoying Potter’s company.

Some small, stubborn part of him still felt like it was too soon to let the past go completely, but a bigger part of him was tentatively hopeful. It was a crazy idea – having something with Potter, of all people – but crazy or not, there was something warm unfurling in the pit of his stomach that he suspected had little to do with eggnog.

It helped that it turned out Potter was a rather excellent baker (not that Draco would admit it out loud), and he frequently brought over steaming plates of sweet things Draco found hard to resist.

“Look,” Potter asked one evening after he’d come over to share a plate of freshly made banana muffins. “What are you doing on Christmas Day?”

Draco shrugged. “Not much. I always visit my mother for dinner on Christmas Eve, but I usually come back after.”

Potter seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second before nodding, as if making up his mind about something. “I was wondering. If you’re not busy do you want to come over to my house?” he asked quickly. “I mean, I don’t have anything planned either, but I’m going to be baking all day, and it would just be nice to have someone to share it with.”

“You don’t see Granger or Weasley for the holidays?” Draco hadn’t asked, but he’d been curious – he’d always assumed those three were still joined at the hips, but with the exception of Granger that one time, he hadn’t caught sight of the other two thirds of the trio.

“I normally do, but they’re going out of town until past Christmas this year. They’ll be back for New Year’s, but until then, I’ll be on my own,” Potter explained. He fiddled with the hem of his sweater. “You haven’t answered my question.”

He suddenly met Draco’s eyes, and Draco realized abruptly that he’d been wrong. He’d been so angry when he’d found out that Harvey had merely been a disguise, had been so certain that any hint of the man he’d met in the tea shop was gone – but no, he’d been missing it all along. Harry had changed his hair, his face shape, even his height – but there was one feature Harry had never changed at all.

Harry’s eyes were the exact same green that Draco remembered.

“I’d like that,” he said carefully, and watched as Potter tried but failed to hide his pleased expression. “You know,” he continued, munching on a muffin. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you, Potter.”

“Mmm, of course not,” Potter said agreeably, but Draco saw the small, hopeful tug at the corner of his lips.

~

On Christmas Eve, Draco went to bed early. He’d Flooed to the holiday manor his mother was spending her winter at earlier to drop off her gift, and the dinner the house elves had whipped up had been delicious. Having drunk a little more than usual, he’d collapsed in bed and gone straight to sleep when he’d gotten home.

He woke, hours later, to searing heat.

At first, Draco thought he was dreaming – but no, there were flickers of red and orange, visible even behind closed eyelids. Abruptly awake, he reached for his wand, thinking that somehow, his room was on fire.

It wasn’t.

Draco revelled in a single moment of sheer relief before he realized what the colours had been. They were the shadows cast by licks of flame, being reflected onto his bedroom wall. Through his window.

Jumping to his feet, Draco looked out his window and realized with a start that no, his house wasn’t on fire – but the next one over was. Potter’s.

Pulling open his window, the wave of heat nearly knocked him over. Any hope that the fire had just been an accident died – he’d read about this in the books his father used to send him. No regular fire could be this hot. This was a magical fire, undoubtedly set on purpose.

“Potter!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, trying to see through the windows, but all he could see were smoke and flames.

Without conscious thought, he was running downstairs and out of his house, heedless of the fact that he was in pyjamas and slippers. He wasn’t the only one who’d come out – there were some figures on the other side of Potter’s house, and here, on this side, a family of four had also appeared, the father looking concerned while one of the children hid behind the mother’s legs.

No one was calling for the Aurors, Draco realized with a sense of sudden desperation. Other than Draco, no one else here knew that Harry Potter lived in this house. All of them were undoubtedly assuming that this was an accidental kitchen fire, a fire that the house owner would be able to get under control soon.

“Aguamenti!” the mother said, confirming Draco’s suspicions. She looked confused when the jet of water from her wand had no effect on the growing flames.

“It’s magical fire,” Draco yelled at her. “Call the Aurors, please!”

He watched long enough to see the woman running for her front door before he cast a Deflammation Spell on himself, followed by a cooling charm and a Bubble-Head Charm to help with the smoke.

“What are you doing?” her husband asked, sounding horrified. “You can’t go in! Your spells aren’t going to hold up against magical flame!”

He was right, but what other choice did Draco have? Leaving Harry to his own devices wasn’t an option – and for all Draco knew, Harry might be injured or knocked out. “I’m going after a friend,” Draco told the man grimly.

Then, taking a deep breath, he ran towards the fire.

~

The door was barely attached to its hinges. Draco felt the heat of the flames against his sides as he squeezed into the house, and had to jump back to avoid a falling beam. It was stiflingly hot inside, and he could feel the sweat on his face despite the cooling charm.

“Harry!” he called, trying to see through the smoke. “Harry, can you hear me? Are you here?”

There was no reply. Grimly, Draco realized that the fire had already traveled up the staircase to the second floor where Harry’s bedroom was undoubtedly located. With the liberal use of self-levitation spells, he managed to get himself up the stairs. “Harry? Where are you?”

There was a muffled thud from the last room, and Draco followed the sound without hesitation.

The relief he felt when he finally caught sight of the other man was staggering. Harry had his back to the wall and there was a long, painful-looking welt along his left arm, but otherwise, he seemed to be doing better than Draco had imagined.

“Harry!” Draco called again, and the other man finally lifted his head. Draco could see the shock in his eyes when he registered who it was.

“Draco!” Harry sounded horrified. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

“Saving your arse, of course,” Draco snapped. His arm, when he wiped it over his face, came away wet with sweat. “A little gratitude wouldn’t hurt.”

“Hurry up and get out of here before it’s too late!”

A lick of flame flickered a little too close, and Draco jumped out of the way a second too late. He felt the resulting welt already starting to form, but he ignored it. “Did you think I went to all the trouble of getting up here just to leave you?”

“Since when were you the type to go on suicide missions?” Harry asked, and then renewed his own Bubble-Head Charm.

“It’s not a suicide mission, you pillock,” Draco snapped, ignoring the part of him that knew very well how dangerous this was, and how, if it had been anyone else, he probably would have waited outside until the Aurors arrived. He didn’t have time to contemplate any epiphanies though. This wasn’t the time. “Now hurry up and get out of there.”

Harry looked at him. “I can’t,” he said. “Look up.”

Draco did, and felt his heart stop for a moment.

There were a series of flaming beams balanced precariously against one another. All of them looked like they might fall any second, and the movement of any one of them would lead to a cascade of falling beams which would effectively seal the room off.

If that happened, Harry had no chance of getting out alive.

“Hurry up!” he said, the panic abruptly welling inside him. They were running out of time. Despite the danger, until now, Draco had honestly thought that they would get out of this alive – because it was Harry, and Harry always got out alive. But the sight of the perilously balanced beams sent a wave of fear through him: fear for Harry that he hadn’t wanted to admit he could feel. “Get out before they fall.”

Harry shook his head resolutely. “I can’t. If I try to cross, I’ll have to move the door over, and then it’ll fall for sure.”

“There’s still a chance.”

“If I cross, it’ll fall. If this room collapses, the next room probably will too, and likely this entire floor. And you’re still here.”

Draco felt the ridiculous urge to laugh bubbling out of him. His eyes felt too dry, his throat, like sandpaper. “So, what? You’re just going to wait here until the beams fall anyway, and die?”

“You still have time to get out,” Harry said, not meeting his eyes, and Draco was hit with the sudden, terrible realization that Harry thought he was doing this for him. He thought he was buying Draco time to escape.

If Draco had never come up in an attempt to rescue him, then chances were, Harry would be trying to run, risks be damned. But now, to ensure Draco could escape, he was going to stay behind and sacrifice himself – like he always did.

“Why are you doing this?” he yelled, something painful clawing at his chest. “Why are you so stupid, Potter? Why do you always have to be the hero?”

“Because I’m in love you, you idiot.” Harry said defiantly, as if that explained everything.

And maybe it did. “What if I love you too?” Draco shot back without thinking. The words burst out of him, finally free.

“What?” Harry stared at him. “No you don’t. That’s the whole point, remember? You don’t even like me. You’re still angry with me.”

“What? Are you stupid, Potter? If I was still angry, do you think I would have let you come over to my house?”

“No, but that’s different!” Harry protested. “That’s just you… tolerating me.”

It was completely ridiculous that they were having this conversation in a burning house that could fall on top of them at any moment. Draco refused to be a part of such stupidity.

There was only one choice. Coming to a decision, Draco swallowed hard and met Harry’s eyes.

Then, he plunked himself down on the floor.

“Draco, have you gone insane,” Harry hissed. “What are you doing? We don’t have time for this. Get out of here before it’s too late!”

“Let’s get one thing straight, Potter. I’m not leaving unless you are too. So you can stand there and wait until the beams fall, and we’ll both die. Or, you can try to get out of that room, in which case we’ll at least have a chance of making it out of here in one piece.”

Harry stared at him. Draco stared right back, not letting himself flinch.

A second passed. With the fire and smoke around them, it felt like a small eternity.

“You’re completely crazy,” Harry finally said, his voice shaking, but something in his expression had changed, and Draco knew he’d won. “Alright, get back. I’m going to make a run for it.”

“On three,” Draco said, sliding to his feet. “I’ll levitate the door out of the way, you run. Okay?”

“Okay.” Harry nodded. There was no time to catch their breath. “One. Two.”

“Three!”

Several things happened at once. The door flew up and out of the way, the edge hitting a wall. The vibrations sent the beams crashing to the floor and the ceiling collapsing in. The room Harry had just been in sealed itself off, and Harry landed with a breathless oomph in Draco’s arms, nearly knocking them both off balance.

By some miracle, the room Draco had been standing in didn’t collapse.

“We did it,” Harry breathed.

And then Draco was grabbing his hand and dragging him in the direction of the staircase. Not that there was much left of it by now – Draco very much doubted it would be able to hold both of their weight.

“Look, the Aurors are here,” Harry said, pointing. And he was right – there was a large window directly across from the bottom of the staircase, and from it, Draco could see small figures in Ministry robes roaming around the lawn, trying to get the fire under control.

Around them, the house creaked ominously.

“The window,” Draco decided.

“What?”

“We’re going to have to get out through the window – I think the house is going to collapse. We won’t make it to the door in time.”

Harry swallowed. “Okay,” he said simply, and tightened his grip on Draco’s hand.

Then, simultaneously, they jumped.

It was only because of how small Harry’s staircase was that they managed to make the distance at all. Seconds after they were airborne, the step they’d been standing on collapsed behind them. For a moment, Draco was certain they wouldn’t make it, that they would land in flames instead – but in the next moment, they were crashing through glass and rolling onto Harry’s lawn, scraped and bruised but alive.

They were safe now. The magical fire was contained within the house itself – it wouldn’t spread, not even to the lawn.

“Harry!” One of the Aurors was calling, but whoever he was, his voice sounded distant to Draco’s ears. His knees felt weak.

“Draco?” Harry was speaking, sounding frantic. He seemed to be trying to pat Draco down for injuries, but Draco wasn’t exactly cooperating. “Draco, can you hear me?”

And then, before Draco could muster up the breath to reply, Harry continued. “Oh god, what’s wrong? You’re hurt, aren’t you?” He waved his arm wildly at someone. “Excuse me! We need a healer here! My friend’s hurt, he came into my house to help me, I think he’s in shock!”

Draco reached up and grabbed his hand, making him drop his arm. “Harry. I’m completely fine,” he said.

“What? No, that’s the adrenalin talking, you’re just not feeling anything yet. It’s going to hit you in a –”

Draco put his finger on Harry’s mouth and felt, rather than heard, him fall abruptly silent. “Shhh. I’m not in shock, I promise.” He smiled, almost involuntarily. “I’m the mediwizard here, remember?”

And then he replaced his finger with his mouth and pressed their lips together.

Harry was still for a second, but then he was kissing Draco back with a vigour that seemed to surprise them both. His arms came up to grasp at Draco’s shoulders, and Draco let himself be pulled forward, leaning in without conscious thought until they were chest to chest and heart to heart.

“I’m not angry,” he said breathlessly when they finally pulled back for air. “I was, but I’m not anymore. I haven’t been – not since you came over with the cookies.”

“Really?” Harry croaked out.

“I promise.” He laughed a little, aware of how ridiculous and over-dramatic this seemed, but for a shining moment, Draco felt wild and fearless, as if he could do anything, say everything.

So he did. “Go out with me.”

Somewhere behind them, the healers had arrived, but Draco ignored them, focusing his attention on Harry.

Harry stared at him for a moment, and then he started to laugh too. “I’d love to,” he said. And then he kissed Draco again.

He tasted like fire and heat and his ridiculous herbal tea, and in that moment, Draco believed that everything was going to work out.

Epilogue: New Years Eve

“I can’t believe you two are dating now,” Granger said, looking at them.

“I don’t want any details, ever,” Weasley was saying, his face screwed up in an expression of disgust. “I mean, Harry, mate, I support all your relationship choices and everything, but if you tell me anything, I might have to go Obliviate myself.”

“Have I mentioned this thing Harry does with his tongue?” Draco said, just to be contrary. “He really –”

“Malfoy!” Weasley howled, as Harry gave Draco a horrified look and turned beet red. “Draco, please, shut up,” he hissed.

Draco preened, and took another sip of his champagne.

There was still thirty minutes until midnight. The four of them were sitting in Granger’s living room, watching the Muggle screen with the moving pictures she’d somehow managed to hook up, and Draco didn’t really understand what was happening but the screen was filled with little Muggles yelling excitedly.

Granger stretched. “I’m just going to take some of these into the kitchen,” she said, gesturing to the dinner plates they’d left scattered on the coffee table.

“I’ll help,” Harry said, moving to stand, but Hermione shot him a look.

“You just got discharged from the hospital three days ago – I don’t care what you say about being okay, you need time to recover.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Just sit here with Draco – Ron can help me.”

Neither Draco nor Harry had sustained any life-threatening injuries, but they’d both had to be treated for fairly severe smoke inhalation despite the Bubble-Head charm. The two of them had ended up spending Christmas day unconscious at St. Mungo’s.

Luckily, by the time they’d woken up, there had been an Auror around to tell them that the perpetuator had already been arrested – in fact, she’d been caught almost immediately after Draco and Harry had been taken to the hospital. Apparently, the particular spell that had been cast to create the magical fire had required the caster’s close presence.

Draco hadn’t recognized the name of the arsonist, but according to the Auror, she’d been the sister of a criminal who had been killed while resisting arrest last year. It had been the first case Harry had been put in charge of.

“Yeah, I’ll help,” Weasley said agreeably, standing up and gathering the remainder of the plates. They disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Draco and Harry alone in the living room.

Draco kept his eyes peeled on the Muggle moving pictures, but casually, he reached over, grabbed Harry’s hand, and laced their fingers together one by one. Harry’s grip tightened in response. They kept their fingers intertwined, even after Granger and Weasley had returned.

They still had a lot of talking to do, Draco knew. The last few days had been a whirlwind of activities – being discharged, fending off the media, helping Harry settle into Draco’s home now that Harry’s own house was unliveable for the time being – and they’d barely had any time to sit down and figure things out.

But for now, Draco was okay with that. They had time. The talking could wait until later.

The countdown was going to start soon – there wasn’t long left to go now. The announcer said something Draco didn’t catch, but all the little Muggles on the screen cheered loudly.

“Happy New Year,” Harry whispered, breath just a trickle of air against Draco’s cheek. Draco’s responding smile was entirely involuntary.

Happy New Year indeed.


End file.
